


concerning pasta

by mostfamousestofhobbits



Series: fluff prompts from writinginmargins [1]
Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Cooking, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 04:33:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2608622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostfamousestofhobbits/pseuds/mostfamousestofhobbits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the gang comes together for dinner, but jensen has no food. cougar to the rescue!</p>
            </blockquote>





	concerning pasta

**Author's Note:**

> "concerning hobbits" from the fellowship of the ring soundtrack was the song i had in mind. again, no shift key because i'm a pretentious twat who thinks they are e e cummings reborn (or something like that). prompted by writinginmargins (bless you). one of three prompts. more to come in the next few days, unless something goes horribly wrong.

“dammit coug, can’t you just make a burrito out of this shit?” the lean brown man to jensen’s right stiffened, then turned his head and glared, holding his hand out emphatically toward the assorted dry and canned goods scattered across the stovetop. there was a lone can of bush’s baked beans, two little things of canned crushed tomatoes, a couple kraft easy mac, a box of off-brand mac ‘n cheese that probably tasted like some horrific blend of powdered cheese and dirt, and two cans of tuna.

“no tortillas. no beef. wrong beans. no spices.” cougar took off his hat and ran his fingers through his long dark hair, scratching his head. he replaced the hat firmly, declaring, “no burrito.” jensen’s head lolled back in anguish. he stared at the ceiling for a while, then removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes with his fingers.

“okay. okay, we can work with this.” he drummed his fingers on his lips, not realizing that cougar was staring, and made the sniper jump when he snapped his fingers and exclaimed, “if we mix the tuna with the beans and tomatoes, we _might_ -“ cougar choked and looked queasy. jensen moaned. “jesus christ, clay is gonna kill meee…” cougar did that little silent snort laugh thing he did when he was amused (and _god_ was it adorable), and bent down to look in the drawer beneath the oven. an actual chuckle escaped his thin lips.

“now what?” jensen nearly squeaked. cougar rarely made actual noises. this was ridiculous. cougar straightened, pulling his half-rolled up sleeves further up his forearms ( _god_ ) and leaned on one leg ( _GOD_ ), shaking his head.

“you have no pots or pans. do you even have a wooden spoon?” jensen stared. he sputtered,

“wooden? what difference does it make? is wood better than plastic for some reason? i don’t think it’s better for the environment. maybe. wait, is it?” cougar was eyeing him with a slight smile on his face. he looked down, did that silent snort laugh thing, licked his lower lip and bit it slightly ( _jesus christ what even WAS THIS_ ), and nodded toward the door.

“come on.” he sidestepped jensen and walked to the door of jensen’s apartment. jensen stared at the back of his hat, then at his ass as he bent over to pull on his worn boots, then quickly back up at the back of his head. he could feel himself blushing. he inhaled, and nearly choked on it. it took him a second to recover, and by that time cougar had already straightened up and was opening the door. he turned toward jensen and nodded toward the door again.

“wait, where are we going?” jensen was still standing in the kitchenette in his socks and jeans, painfully aware of the fact that he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and the fact that cougar had nearly imperceptibly glanced down at his abs. cougar’s eyes flicked back up to his, and cougar grinned. it wasn’t a comforting grin.

“shopping.” jensen’s stomach dropped. he audibly swallowed. a sniper in a grocery store. what could go wrong?

absolutely nothing, as it turns out. cougar was very efficient and knew exactly where everything was in the wal-mart (which was _really_ weird). he even flirted with the middle-aged cashier who helped them, making the guy’s bearded face a little redder than it had been. jensen was still wrapping his head around the fact that cougar had flirted _with a guy_ as he slowly unlocked the white door with his apartment number and the never-optional godzilla poster on it, while cougar exhaled through his nose and nearly shoved jensen out of the way once the door opened. jensen’s hands hurt. he was used to hauling around radios and guns and his fifty-pound kit, but he wasn’t used to canvas bags. there was another thing he was having difficulty with: cougar was eco-friendly. he turned sideways to get through the narrow doorway so he didn’t hit his newly acquired cookware against it. cougar had already unloaded half his bags, and glanced up at jensen before returning to his work and saying,

“get the rest.” 

half an hour later, everything was out and sorted, stickers and tags were removed, and things were ready to be cooked. jensen’s card table/kitchen table was buried under two cutting boards, green onions, a package of chicken breasts, a bottle of garlic salt, a bottle of something called italian seasoning, a bottle of olive oil, a jar of ragu, boxed noodles (bow tie pasta. apparently bow ties were cool enough to be eaten. okay then.), two heads of broccoli, a long, flat rectangular piece of metal apparently called a cookie sheet, and a box of something called texas toast. cougar pointed to the texas toast and said,

“freezer.” jensen dutifully put the box in the freezer, and turned toward the table. cougar was holding a knife out to him, handle first. he froze. cougar did that snort-laugh thing, smiling.

“do you know how to clean chicken?” jensen stared at cougar’s eyes, nearly getting distracted.

“with soap?” cougar’s eyes rolled closed, and he shook his head, looking down, then up, as if asking both the devil and god to save him. he flipped the knife so that he was holding the handle (how did he do that? jensen would have to ask, because it looked fucking _sweet_ ) and tapped his chin with the tip. his eyebrows raised as he considered something (oh my god. oh my god, that face was adorable. he’d only seen it once before, when he’d asked how to pick up chicks in mexico. oh my _fucking_ god), and he winced before asking,

“do you know how to boil water?” jensen laughed incredulously. 

“that one i think i can handle.” cougar gave him a “yeah-right-whatever” look and tossed him the box of noodles.

“follow the instructions, and only put the noodles in when the water is fully boiling.” jensen scowled down at the green box and sighed.

“alright. time to learn how to boil water,” he scoffed.

it turned out to be harder than it looked. first, there was the waiting. jensen hated waiting. but it took like fifteen minutes for the water to boil. of course, cougar had filled up the pot (with _cold_ water. _cold_. how the fuck was water supposed to boil quickly if it started out _cold_?), which made jensen pout a little, but cougar knew what he was doing, supposedly. then, when the water was actually boiling, jensen didn’t know it because the lid was on the pot. cougar had elbowed him in the ribs as he watched the cleaning, cutting, and beginning of the cooking of the chicken (apparently you cleaned chicken by cutting off excess fat, which looked really nasty) when the pot started to hiss. then there was the removing of the lid from the pot. jensen’s forearms were treated to a _lovely_ steam bath which made him yelp (a little. it was a little yelp.) and drop the lid on the range. then there was the frantic opening of the box and the pouring in of the noodles (which apparently couldn’t be done too quickly, otherwise the boiling hot water would splash everywhere). then cougar had explained that the noodles had to be stirred, with a wooden spoon.

it was actually kinda nice, stirring the noodles occasionally and watching cougar cook the chicken. jensen had already had pepper, so cougar fried the cubed chicken in the olive oil with some pepper and garlic salt and italian seasoning, stirring it with yet another wooden spoon. well, it wasn’t a spoon. it was a wooden flat thingy. cougar got a little uncomfortably (or too comfortably?) close to jensen, leaning towards him with his head cocked as he regarded the cooking chicken.

“give me a noodle,” cougar said, so jensen fished one out onto the glass stovetop with much swearing and splashing. he tried to pick it up with his fingers, but the fresh-out-of-the-boiling-water noodle turned out to be hot. he waited a few seconds, then picked up the noodle and held it out. cougar was holding the handle of the frying pan with one hand and stirring the chicken with the other. jensen held out the noodle. cougar looked at him from the corner of his eye and quirked an eyebrow, then opened his mouth. (ALERT ALERT GAY DETECTED) jensen tentatively placed the noodle between cougar’s teeth. cougar bit the noodle in half as jensen held it, chewed, and nodded.

“done.”  jensen was still holding the noodle up. he blinked and inhaled, then picked up the pot and took it over to the sink. there was a funky metal bowl with holes in it, which cougar had previously informed him was a colander. gingerly, he poured the noodles and water into the colander.  he turned around, pot in one hand and noodle in the other.

“uh. uh, now what do i do?" 

“sauce. heat it up.” jensen set the pot down on the counter and grabbed the jar of sauce, still holding the noodle. he opened the microwave. “ _in the pot._ ”

“oh! oh. duh.” he opened the jar awkwardly (still holding the magic noodle) and poured the sauce into the pot. he managed to get the pot back onto the stove and turned the burner back on, then realized he was still holding the noodle. hastily, he tossed it onto the stovetop. cougar had turned off the burner for the chicken and was opening the freezer door. jensen stared at the back of his hat. (hTE FUCK. WHAT THE FCUK) cougar was hastily opening the box of texas toast and arranging individual slices of frozen, buttery bread on the cookie sheet. he turned, closing the freezer with one hand and holding the bread-laden cookie sheet with the other. jensen quickly got out of the way as he headed for the oven, and stared at cougar. bending over, cougar slid the cookie sheet onto the top rack, and straightened up, closing the oven door. cougar looked him dead in the eye. jensen jumped, then cleared his throat and looked down. there was tension between them, a tension something like the pause before a firefight. then someone knocked on the door. jensen literally ran to answer it (even though it was a whole ten steps away), and yanked the door open to reveal clay, with aisha and pooch behind him. they were all smiling and slightly dressed up. clay was in his ubiquitous black slacks, black jacket, and white collared shirt, aisha was in a patterned red dress ( _a dRESS_ ), and pooch was wearing a polo and jeans, which was pretty dressed up for pooch. his stomach dropped again.

“hey, jay. sorry, but jolene couldn’t make it. baby pooch had a doctor’s appointment.” jensen gulped audibly, again.

“oh? oh, that’s fine. baby pooch comes before terrible food.” cougar snorted from the kitchenette. “okay, so the noodles might be terrible. i made those. but the rest should be good. it’s almost done.” he realized he was standing in the way, clutching the doorknob like it was the only thing keeping him in reality. he stepped aside and let everyone in. clay looked around, frowning.

“it’s clean,” he said, puzzled. aisha glanced left to right (probably figuring out where jensen had hidden his gun and ammo in the process), and nodded approvingly. pooch rolled his eyes.

“probably ‘cause cougs is here,” he quipped, winking. (WINKING POOCH ALERT ABORT MISSION ABORT ABORT ABORT) “he always could straighten you up.”

“¡ _mierda_!” cougar swore from the kitchen. jensen and the others ran in.

“what? is something burning? did i not do the sauce right? what-“

“broccoli.” everyone relaxed. clay grinned and waved his hand.

“it won’t kill us.”

five minutes later, everyone was heaping chicken mixed with pasta and sauce onto their paper plates and lounging on the couch. well, aisha, pooch, and clay were on the couch. cougar was on one half of the loveseat. jensen was standing. the other three kept eyeing him while they ate. pooch broke the silence with a question.

“cougs, you cooked this, right?” cougar nodded, intent on his food. “how in the hell did you learn to cook like a white person?” cougar coughed, swallowed, and grinned.

“babysitter.” pooch looked impressed. “plus, jensen had no food.” jensen rolled his eyes.

“i did too have food. canned tuna is food. and so are baked beans.”

“not together they’re not,” clay quipped. aisha laughed.

the food was put away, the dishes were done, and everyone was having a beer. clay and aisha were sitting too close to each other, and pooch was lounging with one leg on the armrest, watching cougar and jensen. jensen had finally sat down on the loveseat next to cougar, keeping his distance as much as possible. he was staring at the floor, wondering what in the hell was going on. the other three were in on something with cougar, but he didn’t know what. the room was stuffy. pooch sighed.

“hey jay.” jensen looked up. “you got a balcony or somethin’?”

“yeah, through the door in the kitchen. why?” pooch stood up slowly 

“’cause, uh, it’s getting’ hot in here. i think we could use some fresh air, y’know what i’m saying?” aisha frowned, then smacked clay’s shoulder. clay started.

“uh. yes. fresh air.” he smiled that special “i’m smiling because i don’t want to punch you” smile and stood up. the trio walked into the kitchen, looking surreptitiously at jensen and cougar. jensen heard the sliding door unlock, then open, and the three began to talk quietly. jensen’s beer was getting warm, and his hands were sweaty. he set it down between his feet and wiped his palms on his jeans. he sucked in a deep breath, exhaled, and decided to poke the elephant in the room.

“coug, do you…have something you wanna say?” cougar was gripping his bottle so tightly that his knuckles were white. he nodded. “are you having trouble saying it?” he did the snort-laugh without smiling, and nodded again. jensen tried to keep his breathing even. “okay. okay.” he gripped his thighs, and said “okay” again, standing up. he turned to face cougar, eyes closed, hands together, fingertips pressed to his lips. after a second, he said,

“operation cougar-communication is a go.” he looked at cougar, expecting a smile. cougar’s face was blank. but not his normal blank face. it was a blank jensen had never seen before. his nostrils were flared, his lips were a straight line, his jaw was clenched- jensen’s hands fell apart. cougar was _scared_. (this is not a drill. repeat, this is not a drill. major crisis imminent.) he rejoined cougar on the loveseat, facing his friend.

“coug, it-it’s okay. whatever it is, you can tell me, alright?” cougar snort-laughed again, only this time his smile was sad. he leaned over and set his beer down behind the couch, away from his feet, and rubbed at his eyes with his fingers. (…….) jensen grabbed cougar’s hand.

“coug, what- what’s wrong? did someone die? are _you_ gonna die?” cougar was staring at their hands, fingers inches from his eyes. “come the fuck on, man, answer me!” brown eyes pinned his mouth shut. cougar’s nostrils flared. he did the licking his lower lip thing he did when he was aiming at something particularly tricky, and closed his eyes.

“ _te amo_.” it was a breath, a whisper. jensen frowned.

“ _te amo_? te a-aaaaaaaaah. aha. ha. ha. real funny, coug.” cougar was now gripping jensen’s hand so tightly that it hurt. jensen’s heart skipped a beat. “c’mon, did you lose a bet? you lost a bet to pooch, and now you’ve gotta, you’ve…” cougar’s eyes were leaking. “you’ve…jesus _fuck_. okay.” he leaned back as much as he could with his hand still in cougar’s deathgrip. “okay. okay, wow. ah.” jensen scratched the back of his head roughly, trying to gather the confetti and fireworks that was his brain. he stopped scratching, thought for a second. (aw fuck it all, why not?) he grabbed cougar’s hat off his head, dropped it on the floor, pulled cougar in, and kissed him as hard as he could. cougar let go of his hand only to slide his hand down jensen’s back ( _jesus fCUK_ ) and pull him in closer.

after a few breathless minutes, they were interrupted by clapping and iphone camera noises. they broke apart to see pooch and aisha clapping while clay held up his phone with an open smile.

“this one’s going on facebook.” jensen stared.

“you have a facebook? you know what that _is_?” he turned to cougar, then back to clay, aisha, and pooch. “so what, does pooch have another wife with six kids? is aisha actually the queen of egypt?” cougar laughed, smiling broadly. aisha and pooch looked happy, while clay looked proud. “you-you were all in on it?” clay and pooch looked incredulous. aisha just laughed.

“you two were so obvious, you coulda been wearing heart-shaped sunglasses,” said pooch. aisha nodded.

“i’ve always known.” clay shrugged. “ever since i put the unit together. mouthy,” he pointed at jensen, “and quiet.” he pointed at cougar. “never fails.” jensen laughed, shaking his head. he looked at cougar, really looked. took in the sharp angles of his jaw and chin and nose and lips, the surprisingly soft mustache and goatee, the long dark hair, currently a little mussed. he nodded.

“well cougar, you could definitely do worse. you could also do a hell of a lot better.” he shyly took cougar’s hands and held them, feeling their warmth. “but, you want me. so, ya got me.”

cougar’s face looked like christmas morning felt. that was enough for jensen.


End file.
